Read Online Like a Wisp of Steam by Thomas S. Roche - Free Book Online
Authors: Thomas S. Roche
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that you were forced into too-tight garments ... without the means to afford proper undergarments ... The horror was overwhelming.
"There, there," sighed the receptionist—Victoria suddenly recalled that her name was Clara. To Victoria's dismay, the girl was now standing before her, but try as she might, Victoria could not stop her wave of sobbing.
Victoria almost gasped as the girl put her arms around her.
Victoria collapsed into a series of sobs, giving in to her nervous agony. The curves of the girl's body pressed against her through that too-tight dress—damn that dress—and Victoria realized with horror that she could actually feel the tiny nubs of the woman's nipples, noticeably hard under the thick white material.
"Let me comfort you, my dear," Clara was sighing. She was a girl of perhaps nineteen or twenty, just a year or two younger than Victoria, and Victoria, despite her nervousness, got the sense that this girl could understand her feelings.
"What's got you crying, darling? Tell me all about it."
Victoria realized that this manner of speaking sounded more like something coming from the madam of a bordello than a doctor's receptionist—not that Victoria would know about such things.
But Victoria gave in to her pain and wept bitterly as Clara cradled Victoria's head in her arms.
"There, there," sighed Clara. "The doctor will make it all better. Charles is a genius at making people all better. And I'll do my part, too, you dear woman."
Victoria experienced a curious rush of fear as she heard Clara say that, as if there were some double-meaning that Victoria should understand. But the warmth of the girl's embrace and the softness of her touch soothed Victoria, and she found herself having some difficulty thinking straight—especially with her cheek against Clara's breast. Victoria ached with jealousy: Clara really was blessed—or burdened—with more in the bustline than was typical for such a petite girl. If Victoria had such a figure, perhaps things wouldn't have gone this far...
Victoria pushed that thought away. She shouldn't be thinking of such things at a time like this. Especially not with the soothing touch of Clara's hand stroking the back of her neck, tickling her flesh, and the fullness of Clara's breasts against her face.
Victoria began to sink into a sort of trance. She really oughtn't to be sobbing like this—everything seemed so pleasant at the moment. With the warmth and curve of Clara's body against hers ... Certainly everything wasn't as bad as it seemed, was it?
Then she heard Arthur's booming voice from the next room, and everything momentarily was at least as bad as it seemed.
"For the love of God, Charles, I wish you'd stop bringing everything back to buggery! Didn't I tell you?"
Victoria realized that she hadn't been paying attention to the obviously hushed sound of Dr. Fitzmartin's voice from the next room. Perhaps he was keeping his voice low so that Victoria couldn't hear what was being said. How thoughtful Charles Fitzmartin was!
But now his voice, raised in answer to Arthur's, was quite audible. "Buggery is only one option, Arthur, and certainly there's a number of others! I hope you'll forgive me for saying that you're being rather difficult about the whole thing."
Difficult. Arthur was so good at being that way.
There was a long silence, and Victoria calmed slightly.
Victoria sank deliciously into the sensations of Clara's hand stroking the back of her neck. It was as if Sarah, her dear sister, was embracing her as they used to do. Victoria never wanted it to end.
Clara sighed pleasantly. "Just relax, my dear ... We'll have you fixed up in no time..."
A shiver ran down Victoria's spine.
Arthur and Charles began speaking again, this time in low, hushed tones. Victoria could only pick out a few words here and there—"procedure," "correction," and "vicissitude."
Vicissitude?
Then the doctor's voice, loud enough for Victoria to understand, "No, you certainly
"There, there," sighed the receptionist—Victoria suddenly recalled that her name was Clara. To Victoria's dismay, the girl was now standing before her, but try as she might, Victoria could not stop her wave of sobbing.
Victoria almost gasped as the girl put her arms around her.
Victoria collapsed into a series of sobs, giving in to her nervous agony. The curves of the girl's body pressed against her through that too-tight dress—damn that dress—and Victoria realized with horror that she could actually feel the tiny nubs of the woman's nipples, noticeably hard under the thick white material.
"Let me comfort you, my dear," Clara was sighing. She was a girl of perhaps nineteen or twenty, just a year or two younger than Victoria, and Victoria, despite her nervousness, got the sense that this girl could understand her feelings.
"What's got you crying, darling? Tell me all about it."
Victoria realized that this manner of speaking sounded more like something coming from the madam of a bordello than a doctor's receptionist—not that Victoria would know about such things.
But Victoria gave in to her pain and wept bitterly as Clara cradled Victoria's head in her arms.
"There, there," sighed Clara. "The doctor will make it all better. Charles is a genius at making people all better. And I'll do my part, too, you dear woman."
Victoria experienced a curious rush of fear as she heard Clara say that, as if there were some double-meaning that Victoria should understand. But the warmth of the girl's embrace and the softness of her touch soothed Victoria, and she found herself having some difficulty thinking straight—especially with her cheek against Clara's breast. Victoria ached with jealousy: Clara really was blessed—or burdened—with more in the bustline than was typical for such a petite girl. If Victoria had such a figure, perhaps things wouldn't have gone this far...
Victoria pushed that thought away. She shouldn't be thinking of such things at a time like this. Especially not with the soothing touch of Clara's hand stroking the back of her neck, tickling her flesh, and the fullness of Clara's breasts against her face.
Victoria began to sink into a sort of trance. She really oughtn't to be sobbing like this—everything seemed so pleasant at the moment. With the warmth and curve of Clara's body against hers ... Certainly everything wasn't as bad as it seemed, was it?
Then she heard Arthur's booming voice from the next room, and everything momentarily was at least as bad as it seemed.
"For the love of God, Charles, I wish you'd stop bringing everything back to buggery! Didn't I tell you?"
Victoria realized that she hadn't been paying attention to the obviously hushed sound of Dr. Fitzmartin's voice from the next room. Perhaps he was keeping his voice low so that Victoria couldn't hear what was being said. How thoughtful Charles Fitzmartin was!
But now his voice, raised in answer to Arthur's, was quite audible. "Buggery is only one option, Arthur, and certainly there's a number of others! I hope you'll forgive me for saying that you're being rather difficult about the whole thing."
Difficult. Arthur was so good at being that way.
There was a long silence, and Victoria calmed slightly.
Victoria sank deliciously into the sensations of Clara's hand stroking the back of her neck. It was as if Sarah, her dear sister, was embracing her as they used to do. Victoria never wanted it to end.
Clara sighed pleasantly. "Just relax, my dear ... We'll have you fixed up in no time..."
A shiver ran down Victoria's spine.
Arthur and Charles began speaking again, this time in low, hushed tones. Victoria could only pick out a few words here and there—"procedure," "correction," and "vicissitude."
Vicissitude?
Then the doctor's voice, loud enough for Victoria to understand, "No, you certainly
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